


Elementary, My Dear

by nik_knows_nothing



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Far From Home, Spider-Man: Homecoming
Genre: Flash is struggling, Gen, MJ Knows Everything, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Pre-Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-07 21:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nik_knows_nothing/pseuds/nik_knows_nothing
Summary: Flash observes the AcaDec team, collects information, and draws the only logical conclusion.He's very good at this detective thing.





	Elementary, My Dear

Despite what people may think, Flash isn’t actually an idiot.

Like, obviously he’s not.

He’s at Midtown, even if he were the dumbest kid at the school—which he’s definitely not—that would still put him head and shoulders above the average dumbass on the street.

But still, he’s a lot smarter than people seem to think.

Not that anyone’s brave enough to say that to his face—except for maybe his dad, and screw that guy—and also Michelle—sorry, _MJ_—but that’s mostly because MJ thinks everyone is an idiot.

And yeah, maybe he’s not the strongest chair on the revamped AcaDec team, but that’s just because he’s not great under pressure, it’s not because he doesn’t know the topics.

He tends to know what’s going on.

For example, he knows that Brad Davis is definitely crushing on MJ, which is seven different kinds of creepy, and he knows that Mr. Harrington is on literally every dating app in existence, which is about another fifteen different kinds of depressing, and he knows that Liz Allan’s mom got that job in Oregon because Tony Stark intervened, probably at Spider-Man’s request.

Which brings him to the last important thing that he knows.

Namely, Peter Parker.

Because something _weird_ is going on with him.

Not that Parker hasn’t been weird to begin with—he’s been weird pretty much as long as Flash has known him—but he’s gotten really weird in the last two years or so.

Leeds, too, the way they’re always skulking around and whispering, like there’s some big secret they’re trying to cover up.

It’s annoying.

They’re not even close to being subtle, and so every time they jump when someone glances over at them, it’s like nails on the chalkboard, and it’s starting to get really annoying.

Flash leans back in his chair and scrolls idly through his phone, but he’s not really paying that much attention to his Twitter feed.

Instead, he’s sort of listening with one ear as Leeds and Parker discuss their plans for the weekend—which are about as lame as he’d expect—and tries to figure out what it is about them that bothers him so much.

“May says we can have the apartment on Saturday,” Parker says. “She’s got a meeting for the fundraiser, and she thinks it’s going to go long.”

“Sweet,” Leeds says. “I’ve got about six hours of re-edited prequel trilogy footage, we can keep working on the remaster or jump straight to the storyline work—”

God, he’s losing points off his reputation just listening to them.

But then, just as he’s about to tune out, Parker says, “I don’t know if I can do six hours.”

And Flash is paying attention again.

Because, again, he himself wouldn’t be caught dead within 100 feet of anything Star Wars/Trek related, but it’s at least 50% of Leeds and Parker’s whole persona.

Whatever Parker’s bailing for, it’s got to be pretty important.

“Dude,” Leeds says. “We haven’t worked on the remaster in ages—”

“I know,” Parker says, conciliatory. “And we’ll work on it, we’ll definitely still work on it. It’s just—I have that thing.”

“Oh,” Leeds says, and he doesn’t sound quite as disappointed anymore. “Oh, right. Your _thing_.”

And that’s weird, right?

And then it gets even weirder.

“I read online that Spider-Man’s got his hands full with some big conspiracy,” Leeds says. “And that’s why no one’s seen him around lately.”

“Ned, you gotta stop taking BuzzFeed articles seriously,” Parker says, light and easy, but then he ducks his head. “I’m sure Spider-Man’s got everything under control.”

“It was a New York Times op ed,” Leeds grumbles, but then he drops his voice a little quieter, so that Flash actually has to strain to hear it. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“I’m sure,” Parker says. “There’s just—there’s a lot going on—with Mr. Stark and everything—”

Leeds nods, looking uncomfortable. “If you ever want to talk about it,” he offers, and Parker stands up in a rush.

“I’ll let you know,” he says. “Thanks, man.”

He grabs his backpack and heads out the door while Leeds protests weakly, and then he’s gone, and Flash busies himself with his Twitter feed once more so that it won’t look like he was eavesdropping.

Even if he totally was.

_Okay_, he thinks. _So what the hell was that?_

And again, he’s not actually an idiot.

He remembers what Leeds kept bragging about last year—five years ago—all about how Parker knew Spider-Man, and how they were friends through their internship, like that wasn’t the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever heard.

Like, Spider-Man is Spider-Man.

Why on earth would he want to hang out with Parker?

But now it’s been a year—now it’s been five years—and it’s starting to sound less and less like a total lie.

Like, it would probably explain a few things.

If Parker and Spider-Man were somehow actually friends, it would explain why Spider-Man had turned up in DC, how he knew that Liz’s dad was apparently a supervillain.

Come to think of it, it would explain why Parker bailed on Liz during their homecoming dance, to go tell Spider-Man that he’d just figured it out.

It makes sense, Flash thinks reluctantly. It’s what any sane person would do in that situation.

He feels someone watching him, and glances up guiltily—

But Ned is staring at his own phone, looking sort of absently worried, not suspicious.

Flash looks around and sees MJ staring right at him.

Great. Flash isn’t _scared_ of MJ, necessarily.

He just sort of—respects her right to keep to herself.

“What?” he demands anyways, and MJ just raises an eyebrow and looks away again.

It doesn’t exactly bode well for him.

Parker shows up again by the time AcaDec practice starts, and he and Leeds are awkward for about five seconds before they remember that they’re one chemical accident away from being conjoined twins, and then they’re fine.

And by the time AcaDec practice ends, Flash is beginning to think he may have made a mistake, last year, five years ago.

Not that he’s totally shallow.

Really, Flash thinks, he’s only being about seventy-five percent shallow.

But it somehow doesn’t seem like the most impossible thing in the world, that Parker might actually know Spider-Man—might have known Iron Man.

And if that’s the case, then it might not be in Flash’s best interests to keep antagonizing him.

Or Leeds, for that matter.

He fumbles an easy physics question while he’s thinking it over, and MJ is looking more and more suspicious, but Brad Davis rolls his eyes and mutters something to MJ that makes her smile, and she lets it go.

Flash glares at Brad, anyway, and feels reassured when the younger kid blinks first and looks away.

Or, no—not younger.

Not technically.

All the Blip stuff is just confusing.

“Parker,” MJ says. “Sub in for Flash. Flash, be better next time.”

“Ha,” Flash says sarcastically, but he stands up and lets Parker take his seat. “There. Now you and Leeds can gossip for the rest of practice, like usual.”

Parker doesn’t say anything, and Leeds rolls his eyes.

“And yet they somehow manage to know the equation for a path derived from an arc length,” MJ says, mild, and then frowns. “I assume. Parker?”

“Uh,” Parker says, and then hits the bell, just out of reflex. “X of t equals X sub zero minus r sub c times sine of theta sub zero plus r sub c times sine of angular velocity times t minus t sub zero plus theta sub zero.”

MJ waits.

“Same for y,” Parker says. “But with cosine.”

“Good,” MJ says, and Parker and Leeds bump fists.

Whatever.

Just because he hasn’t gone out of his way to antagonize them since the Blip, that doesn’t mean he has to go out of his way to be nice to them, either.

MJ corners him as soon as he leaves the practice room.

“Jesus!” he yelps, when he turns around and she’s right freaking there. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a bell or something?”

MJ does that thing where she smiles with half her mouth, and the only reason it’s not totally terrifying is because he’s known her for a couple of years, and she hasn’t actually murdered anyone yet.

Not as far as he knows.

It’s still pretty creepy, though.

“You were staring at Parker and Leeds all throughout practice,” she says, blunt as she always is. “What’s your problem?”

Flash really didn’t think he was being that obvious.

Then again, this is MJ.

She sees everything.

“Why?” he grumbles. “Worried I’m taking over your job?”

MJ doesn’t turn red.

Come to think of it, Flash isn’t totally sure that she’s even physically _capable _of blushing.

Instead, she just raises one eyebrow and looks supremely unimpressed.

“I’m team captain,” she says. “If there’s a problem, I need to know so I can rearrange the team charts.”

Because of course she makes charts for their seating arrangements.

“It’s fine,” Flash says, because there’s no way he can say _I think Parker might actually somehow be friends with literally the coolest superhero ever, and I think I might be trying to unburn some bridges here, because it’s Spider-Man_.

“Fine,” MJ echoes.

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Yeah,” Flash says. “Everything’s fine.”

MJ narrows her eyes, and Flash has to fight the urge to take a step back.

(So what, MJ is scary. He’s not the only person who thinks that.)

She’s still waiting for him to say something—he’s not sure what—and Flash flails around to find something safe, something that’ll get her off his back—

“Do you think Parker really knows Spider-Man?”

As soon as the question jumps out, he wishes he could take it back.

Because, really, way to show your hand, Eugene.

Real smooth.

But MJ blinks, and if it weren’t for the fact that everyone knows it’s impossible, Flash thinks he might have actually surprised her.

He’s just winning all the little victories today, he guesses.

MJ blinks, and then she glances down the hallways where Parker and Leeds disappeared, and then she looks back at him and frowns.

“_Why_?” she asks, and somehow manages to make it sound like the most suspicious word in the world.

“No reason,” Flash lies. “I was just—wondering.”

“Wondering,” she says, because apparently her tactic for intimidating suspects is just to repeat everything they say in the most doubtful tone ever.

It’s maybe working, just a little.

“Yeah, you know,” he says, uneasy. “Because there was all that BS freshmen year, but then Spider-Man showed up in DC, and he knew where we were all supposed to be, even though Parker ended up bailing, and then he knew about Liz’s dad—”

_Stop talking_, snaps the voice in the back of his head that kind of sounds like his father.

MJ’s eyebrow looks like it’s trying to escape her face, but other than that, Flash really can’t read her expression.

For a long second, she just stares at him.

Then her face settles back into place, and she shrugs.

“Gosh,” she says in a flat tone. “It’s almost like Parker was telling the truth when he said he knew the guy. Crazy.”

Flash rolls his eyes.

“So what?” MJ asks, and crosses her arms. “Does this mean you’re going to be creeping on Parker for the rest of the year, trying to get an invite?”

“No,” Flash says, and then, with a burst of bravery, adds, “Like I said, I wouldn’t want to take your job.”

MJ scoffs.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she says, because once again, she’s probably the only person who calls him an idiot.

She’s still not blushing.

But she’s also not looking at him anymore, and Flash squints at her, trying to decide what’s off about her tone.

“Holy shit,” he says, realizing. “You’ve got a crush on Parker.”

With anyone else, it would feel like a victory, like he’s got leverage over them, possibly for the rest of their natural lives.

And MJ’s eyes widen for half a second, so that he has just enough time to feel smug.

Then she smiles.

Or, more accurately, she pulls her lips back to show all her teeth, but her eyes are grim as they’ve ever been, and the end result is just deeply, deeply _off_.

“Tell anyone,” she says, without moving her teeth at all. “And I’ll kill you.”

It shouldn’t be scary.

Legally speaking, Flash is about ninety-seven percent certain that she’s never actually killed anyone.

But there’s still that last three percent.

So, yeah, it’s pretty freaking scary.

“I won’t,” he promises, almost before he decides he means it.

“I’m not kidding,” MJ says, still talking through her teeth, and it really, really shouldn’t be as creepy as it is.

“I know,” Flash says, and can’t help glancing around for a potential escape route.

And he’s still not an idiot.

Whether or not MJ actually could kill anyone, he knows she has enough Weird Girl energy to probably make the last couple years of high school all kinds of weird and unpleasant.

He’s not dumb enough to risk it.

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to have her worried about things like that.

MJ keeps him trapped under her glare for another few seconds before turning around and marching off down the hall, apparently totally unconcerned.

So much for being worried. It’s not until much later, when he’s stopped glancing over his shoulder superstitiously, like MJ’s going to pop out of thin air again, that he realizes something still doesn’t add up.

MJ didn’t look embarrassed, when he figured it out, but she looked panicked before, for just a second, like there was something else she thought he was going to say—

What, though?

It doesn’t make sense.

Flash falls asleep wondering what on earth he’s missing, and so maybe he’s not paying as much attention the next day as he could be.

But in between second and third period, he’s heading for his locker, watching a new video someone’s posted of the Spider-Man vs. Vulture fight.

That’s the nice thing about the Blip, Flash guesses.

Everyone who blipped away is still getting back into the swing of things, so they’re still getting updates on stuff that should be less than a year old, but is actually over five years old.

Spider-Man’s just gone back into the fire to save Vulture when someone slams into Flash in the hallway, hard enough that he actually trips and falls, and he’s just about to rip this asshole’s head off, who the hell do they think they are, anyways—

It’s Parker.

Because of course it is.

“Sorry!” Parker yelps, and backs off so fast that Flash wants to roll his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t see you!”

Flash picks himself up off the floor, and Leeds is staring between the two of them with wide eyes, like he’s worried Flash is going to deck Parker, right then and there.

MJ’s there, somehow, because she has this weird superpower that lets her materialize out of thin air whenever there’s any sort of potential problem with anyone on the team.

“Watch where you’re going,” Flash grumbles, and hates how cliché it sounds.

“Right,” Parker says, and nods. “Right, yeah, sorry.”

He holds something out, and Flash blinks, because he definitely doesn’t remember dropping his phone, but here it is, anyhow.

And it isn’t broken.

Flash takes his phone back and feels a rush of relief, because he’s dropped his phone in these hallways before, and if he’d broken his third iPhone, his dad would throw a total fit—

“Thanks,” he says, without thinking, and Parker blinks.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “No problem.”

“Dude,” Leeds hisses as Flash heads off down the hall. “Did _Flash_ just thank you?”

“For heaven’s sake, Leeds,” MJ says mildly. “Try to be a little subtle.”

“Oh, what like you?” Leeds snipes, but whatever MJ says in response is lost in the noise of the hallway, and Flash makes it the rest of the way to his locker without further incident.

When he glances down, he realizes that his phone is still playing the footage from the Vulture fight, and he shuts it off, wonders if Parker saw it, and then decides it doesn’t matter, because it’s not like it’s a secret that Parker’s apparent BFF is the coolest hero in the Avengers.

In the end, it’s the hotel fight that gives the game away.

Thursday night, there’s some sort of fight at the Radisson in Queens—which, yeah, no one in their right mind would ever let themselves be seen at a _Radisson_, but whatever, no one ever said bad guys had good taste.

Spider-Man is there.

Flash watches the footage on his way in to school on Friday, and it’s as awesome as ever, watching the familiar blue and red figure flipping between the guys in dark suits.

There are flashes all around him, the muzzle bursts from a bunch of super-intense-looking automatic weapons lighting up the night, but Spider-Man just webs one guy to the wall, and then kicks another guy sideways through the double doors—

Whoever was filming is clearly hiding behind a table, but when the fighting is over, Spider-Man takes the time to come over to the camera’s owner, check to make sure that they’re okay, and then tells them to get out of there, he’s just going to wait around for the police—

The person filming doesn’t say anything, but Spider-Man’s definitely bleeding.

For a while, people had theorized that maybe Spider-Man _couldn’t_ bleed, like maybe he was totally bullet-proof or something.

But after the fight with the Vulture, everyone knew he could take a beating as much as anyone else.

It just takes him a lot less time to get over it.

But Spider-Man’s definitely bleeding, and he’s kind of limping away as the person filming shuts off the camera, and a lot of people on Twitter are freaking out over whether he’s okay or not.

Of course he’ll be okay.

He’s Spider-Man.

When Flash walks into his first period class, Parker and Leeds are already there, and for one really stupid second, Flash considers going over and asking if his buddy Spider-Man’s okay.

Fortunately, he stops himself in time.

Because really, just because he had a kind of normal conversation with the two of them the other day, that doesn’t mean that they’re going to just tell him everything he wants to know about Spider-Man and Parker and how they’re connected.

So he just heads for his usual seat, dumps his books out of his backpack, and hunts around for a pen at the bottom of his bag. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Not really.

Not totally, anyhow.

But he maybe takes a little longer than usual, getting his stuff laid out, and so he’s still sort of half listening when Parker and Leeds start talking about Spider-Man.

Flash keeps his eyes glued to the desk, partially because he doesn’t want to give himself away, and partially also because he knows, if he looks up, he’ll be able to see MJ glaring daggers into the side of his head, and he’s so not up for that this early in the morning.

“I saw on the news,” Leeds mutters. “There was a fight at that hotel.”

“It’s fine,” Parker says, without lifting his head from where it's resting on the desk.

“Someone said that Spider-Man got shot—”

“He didn’t.”

Leeds hesitates, and Flash watches out of the corner of his eyes as the other boy takes a moment to work up the nerve, even though Parker is probably the least intimidating person to ever exist, and it doesn’t make sense that Leeds would have to be nervous—

“Peter,” he says. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Ned, come on,” Parker says, and then glances around, just a quick sweep of the room, before lowering his voice, so quiet that Flash almost misses it— “If Spider-Man was hurt, trust me, I’d know.”

“I know—”

“Come on, Ned, don’t you think I’d notice a gunshot wound?”

And all at once, it _clicks_.

Flash sort of drops into his seat, and he’s staring a hole in the floor, but his mind is racing about a billion miles an hour, because it suddenly makes sense—

MJ’s got a crush on Parker, and the way she always gets weird whenever Spider-Man gets brought up around him—

Spider-Man knew where to find all of them, in DC, even though the only ones who knew were on that stupid bus—

And the way Spider-Man was the first to know about Vulture, before May Parker or anyone at the school that Parker should have told first—

_It’s hard_, Parker had said, when Ned asked how Spider-Man was doing—_with Mr. Stark and all— _

_If you want to talk about it,_ Ned had started, and Parker had bailed.

It all makes sense, and Flash is glad he’s already sitting down, because the world feels like it just got pulled out from underneath him, and it feels like everything’s falling into place at the exact same time, impossible and unbelievable—

_Trust me, I’d know— _

_Don’t you think I’d notice? _

It all makes sense, Flash realizes.

Peter Parker is dating Spider-Man.


End file.
